Let Me Entertain You
by bandtogetherandfight
Summary: She thinks she knows everything about music. He's about to teach her. A St. Berry forbidden romance.
1. Chapter 1

_**Something that popped into my head. Let me know what you think!**_

I.

Rachel thinks her dads are the only ones not surprised by her decision to go to Sarah Lawrence.

She gets into NYU of course, and she's quick to correct anyone who assumes otherwise, but she doesn't feel quite ready to tackle the big, bad city.

She likes that, for now, its fifteen miles away, at _her_ beck and call, instead of the other way around.

She's also the daughter of a lawyer and a doctor, and while she has always had dreams of Broadway stardom, the more practical side of her wants to get an actual degree, succeed in something other than what she knows she already kicks ass at. Tisch, she knows, will ensure that her whole life becomes performing, and maybe her dads have made Shelby's failure into too much of a cautionary tale, but it's one that she feels that she must heed.

Plus, she steps foot on the Sarah Lawrence campus one snowy day in February and immediately falls in love. She can _see _herself living there for four years, and, even though she doesn't mention it to anyone until she has the acceptance letter in her hand, her mind is made up long before then.

It ends up being just as great as she imagines. She and her roommate immediately get along, and their small suite feels almost as much like home as her huge bedroom back in Ohio. For the first time in her life, she makes friends easily, and she has a core group of people in her dorm that she regularly hangs out with.

She loves the school's focus on academics and their mandatory faculty tutorials. Never before has she met people who are so willing to challenge her ideas, who unearth opinions and beliefs she didn't even know she possessed. The daughter of two gay dads, she has always known that Lima was a small town, but she had never realized just how closed-minded it was until now.

The best part is that Sarah Lawrence still emphasizes the performing arts, so in addition to her regular classwork, Rachel also sings in choir and joins the theater group. Thinking of all the famous people that have graduated before her fills her with a sense of belonging, and she just knows that one day she will be one of them. It's all so perfect that most of the time she pats herself on the back for a decision well made.

Intro to World Music is not one of those times. She has to take a foundation art course, and the photography class she wants is filled by seniors scrambling to fulfill the requirement before graduation. As a freshman who is only in her spring semester, she could probably wait, but foundation art is a prerequisite for many upper level film classes that she's thinking about for next year. So, Intro to World Music it is.

Except, she _knows_ music. It's been her entire life since even before she could talk, and she shouldn't have to sit through an introductory course on it. The morning of the first class, bored, she flips through the syllabus as she waits for the teacher to arrive and realizes that 70% of her grade is a 10-page paper, and the other 30% is participation in class discussions. She decides then and there that, at the very least, this will be the easiest _A_ she's ever earned.

There are twelve people total in the class - six guys, six girls - and everyone grabs a seat at the round, conference style table. The regular chatter fills the room. No one has ever heard of the teacher before, and as they all talk about the syllabus requirements, everyone seems to be of the same mind: this course will be a breeze. Seriously, half of their homework assignments are almost exclusively Youtube videos.

At exactly 9:30 am, their teacher walks in, and Rachel comes face to face with Jesse St. James for the first time.

His commanding presence immediately quiets the room, and Rachel overhears one of the girls whisper to her neighbor, "He's cute."

Cute is an understatement, Rachel thinks. He has clear blue eyes, dark curly hair, and he looks delicious in simple dark jeans and a navy sweater. She has always thought that she had a type. Finn, Mike, and Puck were all different races, sure, but they were all jocks in the glee club: built, tall, and buff with singing voices that could melt her.

Mr. St. James is taller than average, and slight. He's definitely not a jock, but she can't classify him, and that intrigues her. He has the good looks of an actor, but he doesn't exactly scream theater geek. She's lost in these thoughts until he shrugs his sweater off and she catches a bit of skin. It's immediately apparent how toned and fit he must be under all those layers.

She swallows hard and forces herself to listen to what he is saying. She will not let this easy A go simply because she has a bit of (off-limits) eye-candy in class. She tells herself that she is just desperate. It's been a long time since she made out with anyone, and she's probably just getting antsy.

She takes a sly look around the room and sees that all of the girls in the class are probably having the same impure thoughts that she just cured herself of. She decides then and there that she will be the exception: she will not be just another girl who fawns over him. She is only here to get her A, her prerequisite, and, then, move on with her life.

She tunes back in to him. He has foregone the deskchair and perched himself on the edge of the table, hands tucked casually into his pockets as he talks. He is a graduate student, he explains, not a professor, and this is his first time teaching. He brushes over his past except to say that he plays five instruments and that he once made some good money by writing a song that he promises they all know, but can't reveal the identity of without embarrassing himself. His academic focus is on South American tribal music, and he and his girlfriend, Carmen, lived in a remote Amazonian village for two months while they made a series of recordings for a paper they co-authored.

The atmosphere in the room tangibly deflates at the mention of his girlfriend, and one of the guys in the room laughs quietly, hiding it behind his sleeve. Rachel thinks that Jesse notices, that he probably dropped his girlfriend's name in purposefully, to stave off any unwanted attention from the girls in the room. She admires his commitment and his effortlessness. She wants to laugh at the other girls' surprise and disappointment. At least she had rid herself of her short-lived attraction to him.

Of course, her attraction doesn't fade, because, quite frankly, he amazes her. It's obvious that music is his passion. She thought she knew music. She knows the scales, the notes, and the beats. She knows the power of a flawless performance and a standing ovation. Yet, he knows all of this and more. He can speak to how music is used in other parts of the world: how it has a sensual, almost mystic ability that he's witnessed with shamans in the Caribbean or field workers in China, mothers as they nurse their babies in villages in Africa, and churches in the deep, rural south.

She's never had this kind of reaction to anyone before. With every boyfriend that she has ever had, she was attracted to him physically, and their relationship grew from there. She's pretty sure that there was never attraction based on personality or intellect on either side. She's never had that feeling that she has with Jesse: that she could listen to him talk for hours about things that never interested her until he mentioned them.

As a result of his dedication and enthusiasm, their classes are always interesting. One day he comes in, plays Mandy Moore's song _Candy_, and simply says "Discuss." The class is still going when time ends and the teacher of the next class is banging on the door, instructing them to leave. She's smiling and laughing with another girl as they leave, and, when she glances back at him, he's smiling softly to himself, confident in a job well done.

Yet, despite the fact that she's learning more and enjoying every minute of it, she still sticks to her guns. Four weeks into the class, he has them present their ideas for their final projects. Each of them has an individual conference scheduled with him, but he wants them to keep each other informed about what they're working on.

She's the last to go, and she confidently tells the rest of the class that she is planning a comparative analysis of the French and Broadway productions of one of Sondheim's greatest works. The rest of her class seems to think it's a good idea, but Jesse has a slight frown on his face.

As everyone else packs up, she's waiting for him to comment on her project, and it's the first time she's seen him look hesitant. "It sounds like a good paper, Rachel," he finally states, "But don't you think it's been done before?"

"I…" She doesn't know how to respond to that. She didn't realize how much she had wanted to impress him until she failed to.

"It's a comparative analysis of a domestic and an international work of music," she states glumly, paraphrasing the words from the syllabus, "I thought that it would fulfill the assignment."

"It does," he states plainly, "But it's a bit boring, don't you think? Has nothing we've talked about these last few weeks interested you at all?"

She wants to tell him that it does interest her, that she downloaded many of the songs he had assigned to her IPod, that she listens to them frequently at the gym, changing from African drums to Indonesian tribal chants when she switches machines. She likes all of it, but she loves Broadway, and she's never been one for stepping outside her comfort zone.

"It does interest me," she defends, "But Broadway's my thing, and that's what I want to write my paper on."

He seems impressed by her conviction, and, it wasn't what she was hoping for, but she'll take it. He smiles comfortingly at her, she tries to ignore the fact that she just called Broadway "her thing," and then they both pack up and leave the room in complete silence.

She cries herself to sleep that night, because he called her boring, and, despite all of that, she still thinks the world of him.

II.

She knows that many of the girls in her class are using this individual conference as a way to flirt with Jesse, but she just wants to be done with it. She's not going to change her mind. Broadway is who she is. He'll just have to deal with it.

He's playing the guitar when she walks into his office, and it takes him a minute to realize that he's not alone.

She doesn't mind. She watches intently as he plucks at the guitar, how his curls fall into his eyes as he hunches over the instrument.

"Oh, Rachel, hey," he says when he realizes that she is there.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she states uncertainly, more timid-sounding than she has ever felt.

He dismisses her comment with a wave of his hand. "I was expecting you."

Without much fanfare, she describes the same project in more detail than she was able to in class. She found the French version on Youtube, and her dads are sending her their copy of the Broadway stage version so she can start her research for the paper. Given the last time, she's not expecting a very favorable reaction from him.

He's watching her talk with a slight smirk, and, within five seconds of her being done he tells her: "You're stubborn, but I can respect that."

Her mouth falls open, because she hadn't expected that sort of comment from him.

"Jesse…" she begins to react. He's told them all to call him Jesse, but his first name feels too casual, almost dangerous to her all of a sudden.

He gets up quickly, goes to the large bookshelf against the back wall, pulling books down from the top shelves. She follows his movements and immediately glimpses something that makes her gasp.

"Is that real?"

He turns back to her, his arms full of books, and follows her gaze to the award sitting at the very top of the shelf. He sighs, and deposits the books on his desk, reaches up to pull the Tony down from its perch.

"Yes. Best featured actor in a musical, 2003," he states matter-of-factly, handing it to her by the base. "I was just a kid, 19."

It pains her that he thinks of himself as a kid at 19 when she's only been 18 for a couple of months. But then again, given their current situations, age difference is the least of her worries.

"Then you're a hypocrite," she says quickly, loudly, without thinking, "Because you can't tell me that this doesn't mean anything to you, that this wasn't one of the happiest moments of your life. You wouldn't have it here otherwise."

She can tell immediately that he didn't take well to her outburst. "I am not a hypocrite," he says crossly, "Forgive me for trying to teach you that there is so much more out there than some stage in one city, in one country, the same songs over and over, night after night. Music is universal, Rachel. There's more to life than Sondheim."

She feels like crying, because no teacher, ever, has made her feel this way. She settles for biting her lip until he tells her she can go.

Meanwhile, he tries to regain his temper, taking long breaths to calm himself. "I'm sorry."

She nods solemnly, and watches as he rifles through one of his bottom drawers and comes up with a small zip drive.

"These books will help with your research," he tells her, "But I want you to listen to this mix as well. Just humor me." He attempts a smile for her benefit, and she tries one back, but inside her heart is breaking. She can never seem to get it right with him.

As she leaves, he calls out, "I look forward to your comments on that mix."

She cries again that night, and she hates herself for thinking that him being a Tony-winner makes him all the more attractive.

III.

There's a campus fundraiser one Saturday night, and she and her friends all go because there isn't much else to do when it's this cold out. It's twenty dollars per song for karaoke, which is ludicrous, but they put together and sign her up anyways, because Rachel bringing the house down and impressing their peers will be more than enough entertainment for them tonight. She gladly agrees. It's been a long time since she's had the stage solo, and she's missed it.

She debates over what to sing, and it isn't until she sees him, with his pretty, voluptuous, girlfriend in tow, that she finally makes up her mind. It's completely transparent and she knows he will get the message, but she can't bring herself to shy away from it once she's decided.

So, she sings _Let me Entertain You_ from Gypsy, Sondheim of course, and catches his eye, as he stops in the crowd to listen. She knows how captivating her voice is; she's been told time and time again, but it's nice to see it every now and then. He hardly looks at his girlfriend when she signals that she's going to get something to drink, because his eyes are riveted on her.

At the end of it, she wants to wink at him, but she won't, can't be _that girl_. No one else needs to be in on this. He gets the point, and right now, that's enough for her. She feels bold, but she's glad that none of her friends, no one else will be able to tell that, even if it was just in her head, that was the most blatant, the most flirtatious she has ever been with any man.

Later, she walks by his table. He's alone and he raises his bottle of beer to her in acknowledgement. She smiles, and, after a long moment, he smiles back.

A few days afterward, she finally gets up the courage to stop by his office again.

This time, she doesn't have an appointment, and he's not expecting her when she walks into his office.

"The Israeli rap," she says without introduction. "I listened to it on repeat for hours."

He pushes his chair away from his keyboard to face her as she stands by the door. "Good choice," he says, "That's one of my favorites too." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "But I thought that Sondheim was a given after your performance last weekend. There's no doubt about it, Rachel. You belong on Broadway."

She tucks her hair behind her ears and searches for a chair to sit in. "Thank you," she says, fighting a blush. "But you were right. I can do that in my sleep," she states confidently. "I've never heard anything like that rap song before. I have two gay dads, one of them is black, the other Jewish, and ... it just spoke to me."

It's the first time that she's been this excited about a piece of music that wasn't glee club or musical theater related. The mix intrigued her. She could tell that he had carefully selected each piece of music, even if she hadn't been able to decipher the relationship amongst the songs.

He seems happy, and she's glad that she was the one that was able to make him smile. "I'd like to change my paper topic, if that's okay."

IV.

He gives her some more books, as well as the name and contact info for another grad student that produces raps similar to the one on the mix. It means more work on her part for the project, but she thinks that it will be worth it, and that she will enjoy it.

After their rocky beginning, they seem to have stumbled upon some sort of ceasefire. Their interactions in class are always professional, but every now and then she will see him around campus, and she will wave, and he will smile and wave back. One day, she is seated in a campus café, reading, and he spots her first. He waves at her and gestures to her that he is about to buy the specific bottle of Honest Tea that she always has with her in class. It sends a shudder through her that he noticed.

He's always alone, which gives her more hope than it should. His girlfriend lives in Bogota, she learns one day in class, and he will be visiting her over the long weekend, during which most of the students will be preparing for their upcoming midterm exams.

She's shocked to see him on the Friday night before midterms at the market right across the street from the campus library.

"I thought you were in Bogota," she asks, when she literally bumps into him in front of the freezer of energy drinks.

He looks nervous, which is not a word she would normally associate with him. "Change of plans," he answers vaguely, but she can tell what he is getting at, and she must be the most evil person in the world because her heart soars.

"Heartbreak makes for good songwriting," he jokes weakly, "Heartbreak and Redbull."

"I think you need something stronger than Redbull," she counters. "I wrote some of my best stuff when I was…" She trails off when it finally catches up to her that even though this is Jesse, she's still speaking to her teacher, and it's probably not the best idea to tell him of her escapades with alcohol in high school.

He laughs, because he can tell how she planned to finish that sentence, but he saves her the embarrassment. "You write too?" he questions her.

She nods, and grabs her own Redbull from the freezer. "Sometimes. You're right. Heartbreak is key. My original song about my ex-boyfriend won our glee club Regionals my junior year."

He seems to second-guess himself before he asks her the next question. "Does it help?"

She smiles, more to the freezer than to him. "It was the best thing for me. It made me realize that I could try as hard as I could, but if I was the only one trying, then there was no way that I was going to make our relationship work."

"Sounds familiar," he states softly. "She won't leave Bogota, and I won't give up my career and move there."

She turns to him. "My song was called _Get it Right_. No Sondheim, but I still think it was genius."

They both laugh as they walk to the counter, where he grabs her can of Redbull and pays for it along with his, though neither of them discuss it.

At the exit of the market, he's going left and she's going right. He looks at her a long time before he wishes her good luck with midterms. She rests her hand on his arm. "You too," she states, and she knows it makes no sense. She can't exactly say what she wants to say: please get over her quickly, even though she's not sure she has a chance anyway.

V.

They all turn in their final papers, and Jesse decides to throw a small party so that they can share the conclusions of their projects with the rest of the class. It's hard to find a day during finals week that works for everyone's schedules, so he reserves the classroom for lunch, orders sandwiches, drinks, and a couple of bottles of wine for the graduating seniors, tells people that they can leave when they have to.

Obviously, Rachel arrives early and stays late, unwilling to leave and admit to herself that his class, and seeing him every week is finally over. She has company, too. Many of the girls in her class have the same idea, and she wonders if this spark between her and Jesse is a figment of her imagination, something that maybe the other girls are imagining too.

She and some of the other underage students make a playful attempt for him to serve them wine, but he's serious about it, actually carding two juniors who he doesn't believe are 21. They've become a close knit group, and they all laugh and promise to keep in touch, making plans for a folk concert series in the city next week.

It takes a while, but, eventually, she is the last one there, the entire music department clear, and she offers to help him clean up. They do, and then all that is left is ¾ of a bottle of red wine; the top nowhere to be found.

"You're going to have to throw it out or finish it," she tells him with a frown. "I know which I would recommend."

He sighs and looks at her, actually checks behind his shoulder before he pours two party cups full of wine. "You tell anyone about this…"

He doesn't finish his threat because she giggles and draws a cross over her heart. "I won't."

It's the confirmation she needed that he wants this too, but now that she's gotten it, she wants him to make the first move.

He seems to be stalling.

They retreat to his office down the hall, and to his couch, him closing the door behind them.

They talk some more, and, though she's drinking slowly, she's made it through half of her cup of wine.

Time is running out, as is her patience, and her sobriety.

She switches her wine to her left hand, reaches with her right to play with the curl above his eye that has fascinated her for months.

He closes his eyes at the gesture, but still makes no movement.

"What are you thinking?" she breathes, because, ever since she's met him, its what she's always wanted to know.

"This is so wrong," he states, but doesn't say anything more, and doesn't move away from her touch.

She moves her fingers from his hair, and grabs his hand, resting her cup on the ledge behind the couch, where he's already put his.

He opens his eyes, and he mirrors her previous action, stroking her hair with his free hand.

"You want me," she confirms.

He nods, ever so slightly, and it's just enough to be what she wants.

"Jesse, please," she whines, "I want you too, so please, you have to do something."

His eyes widen at her admission, and it's a complete shift from just a moment before. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into his lap, his lips on hers before she can even register that they've moved.

It is, quite literally, the best kiss she's ever had, and it's over way too soon.

He breaks away, and rests his forehead against hers. "I can't believe I just did that."

"You're not my teacher anymore," she reminds him, the words familiar because she's been repeating them to herself ever since she turned her paper in. "So do it again."


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter is dedicated to northstar61. Thank you so much for the inspiration and the support!

**Please note the change in rating.**

I.

**T**wo hours later, she is still in his lap, and they are _still _making out. She didn't even know it was possible to simply kiss someone for as long as they have been at it.

She can feel that her hair is an absolute mess, and both of them are quite sweaty after hours of moving against each other, but she swears it's the happiest she's ever been.

That lasts until they hear the telltale signs of footsteps coming down the hall, and they both break apart at exactly the same time. His office is L-shaped, and she ducks behind the corner, backing up against the wall so that she can't be seen from the door.

She wonders if Jesse looks just as tellingly … disheveled as she feels, but, thankfully, it doesn't matter - it's only the janitor. Jesse says something to the man in Spanish, and he leaves without entering the room. Still, she doesn't dare move until she hears Jesse flip the lock on the door of his office; something they hadn't stopped to do before.

He rounds the corner, and, curiously, she thinks it's the first time they've actually looked at each other since she asked him to kiss her again.

They've been distracted.

The look on his face is profound but unreadable, and she's expecting him to say something that will attempt to explain what's been happening between them. However, it doesn't yet seem to be the time for talking, which saves her from deciding exactly what she herself was about to say in this situation.

He reaches for her again, and they're back at it, but this time she's no longer on his lap and he's using his weight to push her back against the wall; hand at her hip, fingers gripping hard.

He moves away from her for a split second to readjust and get comfortable, and her hips thrust out toward him of their own accord; her body chasing something she has never given it permission to seek.

It's that unconscious action that returns her to her senses. She pulls away; stunned at her own gall.

"I'm still a virgin," she squeaks out, though it sounds to her like it reverberates in the silence of the room. It comes out almost like an accusation; as if he had done something wrong, when it was her own body that was ready to betray her.

"I need you to know that," she finishes weakly, with a hint of traditional Rachel Berry self-assurance, though she doesn't actually meet his eyes.

She watches him react as if in slow motion. He removes his hand from where it had been resting on the wall beside her, and then turns away, probably so that he's not facing her when he readjusts his pants.

She wonders if he is going to call her immature and tell her to grow up and get out. She had been prepared for the fact that she was now in college; that the same virginal platitudes that she had used to keep Puck, then Finn, and less so Mike out of her bed probably wouldn't work the same way on college guys. She has been lucky so far, but Jesse isn't your typical college guy, either. He is older, more experienced, and she's sure that he's not used to settling for juvenile make out sessions anymore.

Still, she has never exactly figured out what the right way to say 'No' is.

She had imagined him finally giving in and kissing her hundreds of times before. She knows she led him on, had literally asked him to do it, but she had never given much thought to exactly what happens after you successfully seduced your teacher; probably because she had never really thought that it would ever get this far.

She hopes that he wasn't expecting her to… fuck him against the wall in his office.

She realizes almost absent-mindedly that silence really can be deafening.

"God, Rachel," he finally replies, and he sounds, if anything, exhausted. "I wasn't going to… this isn't about…"

He exhales sharply, and, surprisingly, takes a step towards her and runs his thumb over her sensitive lips, in what she is sure is the most intimate gesture she has ever been party to. "I wasn't going to have sex with you."

"I know," she whispers back.

She _hadn't _known, and it's a relief that he probably would have stopped them if she hadn't been able to stop herself. Given her reaction to him earlier, she is the one she's most worried about in this scenario.

His statement reminds her that he must have thought about this too. This – whatever this is between them – didn't just come from out of nowhere. He's obviously been a party to this attraction between them for months, and it thrills her that he has probably considered having her in this very situation, too.

But now that's he made it clear that he wasn't going to try to have sex with her, she's second-guessing even that. Does that mean he doesn't want to have sex with her, ever? Does he not want to continue this? Is he simply just trying to be nice even though she just dashed his hopes of a quick lay?

It's becoming quite clear how little she really knows him, but it's funny how she feels like she does.

She's never really dated anyone that she hasn't known before becoming his girlfriend. She's actually used to seeing her boyfriends in relationships with _other _girls before she gets the chance to date them.

Every romantic comedy she has ever seen has instructed her that what comes out next is the absolute wrong question to ask of any guy, but she can't help herself. She needs him to help her clarify the absolute pandemonium that are her thoughts right now; needs to know if he's experiencing anywhere near the same thing.

"What _are_ we doing?"

"I don't know," he confesses, biting his lip to hide a guilty grin. "I never thought this would actually happen."

She can't help but smile, because it's the affirmation she needed that he had fantasized about this too. She's definitely not in this alone.

She is the one that steps forward this time, having gained confidence, and she runs her hands through his hair as they lose themselves in another mind-blowing kiss.

Her cell phone goes off, interrupting them once more, and this time he's the one leaning against the wall as he waits for her.

It's Sarah, her roommate. They were supposed to meet up twenty minutes ago for dinner before they went their separate ways for the summer. Oops.

"I'm in the bookstore," Rachel lies, "I came here after the party and I guess I lost track of time. I'll be home in twenty minutes."

It's quiet in the office, so Jesse can hear Sarah's end of the conversation through the phone as well.

"I knew this was going to happen," Sarah states almost accusatorily. "He's your teacher, Rachel. You can't get depressed because something could never happen between you two."

"Yeah," Rachel answers noncommittally, choosing the easy way out of lying.

"I'll make a run to the store," Sarah promises, sounding like every bit of the good friend that she is, and making Rachel feel even guiltier for lying. "We'll have ice cream and junk food for our last night together, and it will help you get over Professor Sexy once and for all."

She listens a bit impatiently to more of Sarah's description of their girls' night in. "Sounds good. I'll see you in a few," Rachel responds, before hanging up the call, pressing the 'End Call' button particularly hard.

When she finally meets Jesse's eyes, she's surprised to see a smirk on his face.

"Professor Sexy?" he mocks as he loops an arm around her waist, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"She was talking about someone else," Rachel states, her lie blatantly obvious even if her shy, joking smile didn't give it away. "My math professor. He wears those blazers with the elbow pads. What else would you call him?"

He ignores her sarcastic prompt to abruptly change the topic. "I'm sorry we have to lie, but no one can know. It's just too dangerous." As he says this, he caresses her hair, and she's not sure that she could ever really say no to him.

"I understand," she agrees. "But I hate lying to her." She doesn't, however, hate that he's insinuating that there is something to lie about.

That may become a problem later.

"I'm going home to Ohio for a week," she informs him, "But then I'll be back for the summer to do an internship with Broadway Cares."

She's hoping that he will pick up on her unspoken question, and she is grateful to learn that he is a master at following her tacit clues.

"Then I will see you in a week," he promises her, "And we'll figure this out."

"I have to go," she states reluctantly, looking towards the door from the safety of his arms.

He nods, and moves with her towards the door, grasping the handle to pull it open for her.

They both sense the shift that will occur once she reenters the real world, and before she does, he leans down to kiss her one last time.

"One week," she says, and she can't explain why she is filled with more dread than hope.

"One week," he echoes. And then she leaves.

II.

**K**urt comes over the day after she gets back to Lima, and she's almost bursting with excitement, so she can't help but tell him. She feels better about it after literally making him swear that he won't reveal what happened with Jesse to anyone, Blaine being the obvious exception.

He's at UCLA with Blaine, so he has only heard bits and pieces of the 'Professor Sexy saga' through her weekly email updates. He freaks out, which causes her to freak out in turn. Still, he listens to her talk about just how erotic and romantic it all was.

But, as she tells him, only 36 hours later, it's beginning to feel like a dream. Jesse's promises about seeing her and figuring things out when she gets back are beginning to seem like empty, unattainable promises.

Two days later, she's managed to fully convince herself that it will never happen; that she should just accept that afternoon in his office for what it was: the best make out session she has ever had, with a guy that she could never ever hope to have.

It's becoming somewhat of a pattern in her life.

Things become real when the Sarah Lawrence registrar sends out an email that grades will be delayed for a couple of days due to a technical error. The email has nothing to do with her particularly, but it causes a shocking realization.

She feels like a fool for thinking that he wasn't her teacher just because she had already handed her paper in. He still has to _grade_ her paper, and there was no way he could have done that for her whole class in the day between when she handed the paper in and when she jumped him in his office.

He had given them all his cell number when he had been trying to get them all to meet up for a show during the term, and she feels no hesitation in dialing it now; too many boundaries have already been crossed.

"Don't give me an A just because I kissed you," is what she opens with, her tone insistent and icy, because she has practiced in front of her full-length mirror.

"Rachel?" he questions, but she cuts him off before he can say anything else.

"But don't _not _give me an A just because I made out with you, either. I want the grade that I deserve, Jesse, not the grade that I…"

She really doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Rachel," he starts, but she cuts him off again.

"That was an A paper, Jesse," she demands. "I put a ton of work into it, and what happened in your office has nothing to do with it. I'm not some slut who made out with you to get a better grade in a foundations course!"

She's practically yelling into the phone at this point, and she really has to remember to keep it down lest she arouse her dads' suspicions.

"Rachel," he tries again, and there's a beat because he actually stops, expecting her to interrupt again. "Rachel, breathe."

She follows his command, but she doesn't feel any calmer.

"That was an A paper, Rachel," he states softly but confidently. "No one would ever challenge me on that."

It's his tone, more than anything else, which soothes her.

"My dads really liked it," she admits, and she's glad that he can't see that she is crying; didn't really realize how emotional she was about this until now.

"I've never done this before either Rachel. I would have never thought I would get involved with one of my students." He sighs, and she wishes that she could see what his face looks like while he is not speaking.

"But maybe we shouldn't do this."

"No," she replies without thinking, her reaction automatic; the thought of not having him after wanting him for so long more terrifying than what having him will entail. "I tend to overreact at highly critical moments. I'm sorry. I'm just…."

"Scared?" he completes for her, and it wasn't what she was going to say, but it is true and she finds herself nodding into the phone even though he can't see her.

"Yes," she admits quietly. "I'm not usually a rule-breaker... You may have noticed."

"I know the feeling," he reassures her.

It seems that her dramatic phone call was exactly what they needed to jumpstart their relationship, and, yes, they're calling it that now. He offers to pick her up from the airport when she flies back to New York next Sunday, and they decide on a new restaurant for dinner that night.

She calls Kurt after she gets off the phone with Jesse.

"I think I have a boyfriend," she squeals.

III.

**I**t surprises both of them how little drama there is in the beginning. He's working on another academic article, so he sets himself a daily schedule in the library, working from 10-5. Even though she's spending the summer in her old dorm room on special permission, invariably, she goes straight from her internship to his apartment, where they make dinner together.

They don't go out much, but they always find things to do. One night, they watch his Broadway show thanks to a bootleg DVD, and she raids his extensive Broadway album collection for her own IPod, matching their dinner to a song every night. They spend hours simply talking about anything and everything, and, if it weren't for the frequent makeout sessions before he drives her home for the night, she would have thought they were developing the best (secret) friendship ever.

Friendship is fine, and the kissing is still as good as that first time, but she can't stop the nagging thought in the back of her mind that she's not satisfying him in the way that he needs. He hasn't tried to go any further than kissing and touching her through her clothes, which frustrates her, because while she appreciates the respect, she's never been the instigator of anything sexual before, and she doesn't know how to start now.

She feels ready, and it's honestly the first time she can say that without hesitation. The first night he brought out his guitar and they had sung together, she had felt a wave of desire to drop to her knees and pleasure him. The feeling had been so unexpected, so foreign, that by the time she had given it thought, the moment had passed.

This entire relationship feels different than any of her previous ones, and it's a continuous debate in her head whether that's solely because of Jesse and their crazy intense connection, or because she's not making out in someone's parent's house, or in the back of a car; worried about giving in too much too fast and not really meaning it.

They're sitting on the couch watching a Project Runway rerun (his secret obsession) when they both get the email at the same time; he on his phone and she on her IPad. Robin from their music class is finally trying to organize the reunion they had never formalized, and she can't wait to see everyone at the tapas restaurant by campus, 8pm Thursday night.

She's biting her lip in contemplation when he kisses her. "It will be fine," he reassures her, "They won't be able to tell."

She doesn't tell him that part of the problem is that she wants them to be able to tell. She wants to assert her claim to Jesse in a way that none of the girls in the class could ever refute.

She has always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve. She feels most like herself in this relationship, and it sucks that she can't tell anyone but Kurt about it, when she could literally sing it to the world if she had the choice.

It ends up being just as bad as she fears. The girls, now free from the consequences of the school administration, flirt shamelessly with Jesse, and, not long into the evening, Rachel convinces herself that he is purposefully ignoring her, even if he is supposed to be treating her like everyone else.

Andy, who just graduated and keeps making a big deal about he and Jesse now being equals, is the one to bring Carmen up, and Rachel feels her heart plummet.

It's a topic they haven't talked much about, but she's not stupid enough to ignore the reality that their four-year relationship would have had a significant impact on his life.

Still, she doesn't exactly want to talk about how they met, whether or not he and Carmen had ever planned on getting married, and what exactly caused their breakup, especially since she was "smoking hot." (Thanks, Andy!)

He plays with his beer and looks anywhere but at her when he tells all of them that he's seeing someone new, but he doesn't feel quite comfortable talking about it yet. She knows she can't have a declaration of love or anything close to it, but him sidestepping their relationship completely doesn't exactly do much to improve her sour mood.

She feels his eyes on her when she gets up and announces that she's going home, her arms folded. She worries for a minute that she's being too obvious, but many of the others have to get home as well, and announce their departure, offering her a ride home. The party breaks up naturally, but no one seems to realize that her jealousy had initially been the cause.

Jesse offers rides too, and manages to conveniently arrange it so that she is his last drop off, given that she's the only one staying on campus for the summer.

Instead of going back to his apartment as they normally would, he actually drives her back to the dorm, which further annoys her. She gets out and slams the car door, refusing to say anything to him.

It's sort of an unspoken rule that he doesn't step foot in her dorm - that would be too obvious - so she really is surprised when she hears him knock, and it's amazement more than anything else that gets her to open the door.

"I don't know what you wanted me to say," he says wearily.

"Anything would have been better than nothing."

"You really think so?" He's not being argumentative, she knows him well enough by now, just realistic.

"I don't like feeling like you're embarrassed to be with me." She means it as an accusation, but she loses her nerve because she knows instinctively that it's not true. They're not in similar situations, but she wants to be able to hold hands with him in public, and kiss him if she wants to.

He cups her face in his hands, "You know that's not true, Rach."

"Do I?"

She pushes away from him, and moves to sit on her bed. He sits across from her on Sarah's stripped mattress, looking uncomfortable.

Finally, he speaks. "We broke up because I had doubts about our future that I couldn't ignore anymore. The plan was always for me to go back to Bogota. I started finding more and more reasons not to."

"Why are you telling me this?" Rachel wonders aloud, because anything about Carmen makes her incredibly sensitive. Right now, she's bordering on bitchy.

"I saw you sing, and it became another big doubt. Not just my attraction to you, but Broadway, performing, everything I had sworn I didn't want ever again."

He sighs and says in a not too dramatic tone, "It's like you awakened something in me."

Mood almost immediately restored, she gets up from her bed and moves to stand in front of him.

He looks up, catches her eye, and smiles in her direction. "You're not exactly a subtle person, Rachel. I know it kills you to keep this quiet, and I know I'm being selfish. I understand if it's not worth it to you."

"Stop being so dramatic," she teases, even though she has been the bigger drama queen tonight. "It just sucks that I like you so much and I can't tell anyone about it… I can't show anyone just how much I want to do this…"

She leans down to kiss him, kneeling on the mattress between his parted legs to get closer to him.

Rachel says a silent apology to Sarah before she says what she says next: "We should do it."

"It?" Jesse asks against her lips, confused; breaking away to look her in the eye.

"_It_, Jesse," Rachel clarifies, somehow refraining from rolling her eyes as she tries to get him to lie back on the bed. "It's not a big deal," she tries to persuade him, even though her heart is pounding as she nibbles on his lip and waits for his answer.

He furrows his brow at her. "It is for a girl," he states diplomatically, tucking her hair behind her ears from his position underneath her.

She sits back on her heels as she takes in his dismissal. "It doesn't bother you that we haven't had sex?"

"I'm willing to wait until you're ready," he tells her. "You've already waited this long."

She can tell he thinks he's being considerate, but, even so, he just rejected her, and Rachel Berry does not take rejection well.

He sits up on the bed and grabs her hand before she can get too far away from him.

"Rach, seriously? You can't be mad at me for this. We have our first fight and you expect me to what? Rip your clothes off right now?"

Now on her feet, she whips around, the tears falling freely down her face. "You wouldn't get it," she accuses him, shaking her head, "Because I've never felt this way about anyone before, and you obviously have! _This_ is what I've been waiting for, but you can't even begin to understand that."

"Don't walk away," he orders her, standing up and holding her arm, even as she tries to turn away from him.

She doesn't really have anywhere to go, she's standing in her small dorm room after all, so she stands there crying. She tells herself that refusing to look at him is resistance enough.

"I've never felt this way before either," he admits quietly.

"Yeah, right," she challenges, her disbelief practically involuntary.

She hears him sigh, but still doesn't look up.

"I get bored of people easily. I like my alone time and my space. I think that's why the long-distance relationship worked for as long as it did. I never thought I would meet anyone who I always want to spend time with, who I'm always interested in being around. I never expected this. I didn't even know I wanted it." He laughs softly. "So, no, Rachel, I've never felt this way before."

Even before he reaches the end, her face has scrunched into a smile. "Yeah?"

He kisses her nose. "Yes. But I know this isn't the ideal relationship, and I can't give you any more than this. I won't take something like that from you."

"It's mine to give," she acknowledges, and they are both silent as the weight of what is ultimately the truth sinks in.

"This may not be the ideal relationship," she admits, "But it's exactly what I want."

He grins back at her. "It's what I want too."

"Pack a bag," he tells her, his voice a little gruff. "We'll still take it slow, but I want to wake up next to you tomorrow morning."

IV.

**H**e may have chosen UCLA for Blaine, but Kurt is still just as obsessed with New York as he has ever been. Rachel has just woken up for the second time in Jesse's bed when Kurt informs her that he convinced Burt to make Manhattan the location of his and Carole's four-year anniversary celebration at the last minute, and they will be there in two days.

"I have to meet Professor Sexy," he demands, and she can hear Blaine say something in the background.

She tells Jesse that Kurt, his family, and Blaine are visiting New York for the weekend, but she conveniently neglects to mention exactly_ whom_ else Kurt's family includes.

That weekend, the school is having a beginning of summer barbecue to celebrate the solstice, and Kurt is excited because he wants to see the campus and the festival will provide the perfect opportunity. Jesse sings and plays guitar in an informal reggae fusion band with some other grad students, and since he will be playing at the barbecue, Rachel and Kurt decide that's where he will meet Jesse. It's a good solution because she can't exactly make a declaration in front of Kurt's parents.

The fact that she doesn't exactly want to make that declaration in front of Finn, either, is something that she chooses to ignore.

She takes a personal day from work on Friday, and spends all day with the Hummel-Hudsons in the city, sightseeing and shopping. Despite their time apart, she, Kurt, and Blaine are instantly as thick as thieves once again, and they have to try really hard not to make Finn feel left out. Finn is cheerful and full of anecdotes from his first year of college, and Rachel can sense that he's enjoying school in Ohio, even if he does seem a bit lonely. Carole and Burt have always adored her, and Burt pays for everything she wants when she and Kurt let loose in H&M. She only feels a little bit guilty.

Citing cruelty to animals, she refuses to take a carriage ride through Central Park after dinner, and Finn offers to stay back with her while the two couples go ahead. He's been particularly attentive to her all day, but this is the first time they've been alone.

They sit on a bench to wait, and Finn starts talking about their trip to New York for Nationals in their junior year, when he had planned a perfect New York date for her: flowers, a walk through the park, Sardi's, and dessert.

He nudges her shoulder as he reminds her of how a pigeon had pooped on him as they walked home hand in hand (as if she could forget), and the mad dash back to the hotel room so that he could shower.

As they talk, she remembers fondly just how infatuated she had been with him at the time, and she leans into him when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, smiles as his fingers tickle her bare skin as they laugh.

An old couple walks by and the woman smiles at how affectionate they are being, whispers something to her husband who smiles too. Finn grins back at them, and Rachel realizes almost uncomfortably that she has never done this in public with Jesse, most likely will never be able to, and the thought saddens her.

She breaks out of her thoughts when Finn confesses to her that he misses her, and he thinks of her all the time. "We had it going on, you know?"

She smiles because she does know. She was a completely different person then; can realize now the great effort it had taken to convince herself that she had been happy in their relationship.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at their position as he walks up to her, and she shrugs guiltily out of Finn's embrace, just in time to see Burt wink at Finn, and Carole beam at both of them.

Burt tells her that she can have a sleepover with Kurt and Blaine at the hotel if she wants, but it is Finn who looks most pleased at the prospect. Rachel declines, heads back to campus on the train, and tells all of them that she will see them tomorrow.

She tells herself that she doesn't text or call Jesse that night because it's late, and not because she feels guilty about having so much fun being fawned over by her ex-boyfriend all day.

V.

**T**he day of the barbecue, they meet her for breakfast at the diner by campus, and she takes them on a tour of the school and her dorm while workers set up tables for lunch on the quads.

They walk around the festival, and Finn tries to win her prizes at the various booths, and pays for her cotton candy. When it's time for the live show, she chooses a picnic table close by the stage, and covertly points Jesse out to Kurt and Blaine as the band plays their set.

"Does he have a brother?" Blaine jokes quietly. Burt, Carole and Finn have been consistently asking what the three of them are whispering so intently about, and Kurt glares at him to keep it quiet (and, Rachel thinks, partly for the comment itself too).

As the band leaves the stage, Rachel shoots Jesse a smile, which he returns, and a surreptitious thumbs up. She has long realized that watching him perform is something that never fails to make her heat beat a little faster, or make her fall that little bit more in love with him.

She keeps watching him as he crosses the lawn and goes to grab some food, and doesn't notice when Finn moves from his side of the table and sits next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders, and resting the other on her thigh.

"The band was pretty good," he tells her, "I've never heard that kind of music before."

"Reggae fusion," she responds, dropping her head and trying to move his arm. "They're really popular on campus."

She hears Finn ask her to dance, but it's drowned out by the sound of Burt calling Jesse over to the table as he walks by, wanting to tell him how much they all enjoyed the music.

She meets eyes with a worried-looking Kurt before she looks up to see that Jesse is standing by their table, plate in hand. She's not sure that anyone else can pick up on the silent anger that she can read clear as day on his face.

Burt and Jesse introduce themselves and Burt asks questions about the music, and whether they have recordings for sale, and though Jesse is answering him, he's looking right at Rachel, apparently focused on Finn's arm, which is still around her shoulders.

"Hello, Rachel," Jesse finally addresses her, once he's given Burt a business card with the band's information, and it's a show face if she's ever seen one. "Rachel was in my music class last spring," he informs the rest of the table.

Rachel doesn't – can't - say anything, but Burt takes it upon himself to introduce the rest of his family. "This is my wife Carole, our boys Kurt and Finn, and Kurt's boyfriend, Blaine. Kurt and Blaine were Rachel's best friends in high school, and Finn was, well, one half of Finn and Rachel – or what was it Finn? Finchel. We're here celebrating our anniversary, and to visit Rachel, of course, since she's practically part of the family."

Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine are all rendered mute at this pronouncement. Rachel looks up to meet Jesse's eyes, but even though he's looking at her, she's not entirely sure he sees her. She feels a sense of dread rise in her stomach.

"It was nice meeting all of you," Jesse states politely. "Enjoy the rest of the barbecue. I'll see you around, Rachel."

She can't do anything but nod, but, by that time, he's already gone.

VI.

**L**ater that evening, he looks up from chopping vegetables as she lets herself into his apartment. She drops her bag by the door and sticks her hands into the pockets of her dress, swaying on the spot to calm her nerves.

"Hey," she says quietly, listening as the sounds of his chopping grow louder and more aggressive.

She closes her eyes. "About today… about Finn… I should have told you that my ex was Kurt's stepbrother. I'm sorry."

"The one from the song?" he asks and it takes her a minute to figure out what he means, and then she remembers their conversation about songwriting and heartbreak.

"Yes … but… Jesse that was a long time ago."

He turns to her and shoots her a disbelieving look. "Certainly didn't look like it. He was all over you," he says accusatorily. "Not that you were complaining."

"Did you want me to announce to the entire barbecue that you and I are dating?" she answers angrily. "You are the one that's so intent on keeping this relationship a secret!"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Rachel. I…"

"And, it's not like you said or did anything either," she interrupts icily. "You just stood there like some automaton or something, like it didn't bother you in the least."

He throws the knife into the sink and glares at her. "Is that what this was all about? Some sort of test to make me jealous?"

Hearing the words come out of his mouth makes her realize that he has it exactly right; the desire to make him jealous, to compare the two of them, had been the undercurrent of all her interactions with Finn this weekend. She's always had a hard time believing that people want to be with her, and this relationship has only given her more ammunition for her insecurities because they have to hide it.

"Did I fail your test, Rachel?" he asks in a low, dangerous voice, walking towards where she stands by the door.

She shakes her head at him, grabbing for his shirt and pulling him to her. "No," she tells him, but he doesn't budge.

"What was I supposed to do to pass?" He takes a step towards her and plants both his hands on her hips.

"Drag you away from him?"

She shakes her head as tears of embarrassment pool in her eyes. He takes a step towards her, backing her against the wall.

"Kiss you right there in front of him?"

She shakes her head, leans forward and kisses him on the mouth, arms looping around his neck to hold him close.

He breaks the kiss, and rests his head in the crook of her neck, unable to move due to her tight hold on him.

"No," she tells him, ducking her head to tempt him into another kiss.

"Break his fucking arm for touching you?"

He slides his arm up her thigh and under her dress, and she gasps against his mouth.

They've never done this before: this mixture of fury and passion. She doesn't yet know if she likes it, but it is invigorating.

"Look at me, Rachel," he commands her, and she opens her eyes to watch as he harshly captures her mouth again.

She moans, and bites at his lip, and every measure of control that he has snaps, almost audibly.

It feels like it's too fast and happening in slow motion all at the same time. All it takes is one, two, three, well-placed swipes of his thumb before her entire body jerks like a whip and she cries out.

He rests his forehead against the wall as he supports her weight, completely upset with himself. Nothing – not even the obvious wetness that coats his thumb – can make up for doing _that_ without her explicit permission.

After a while, he feels her release her grip on his arm and reach her hand up to play with his hair. When he looks up, her eyes are back open, her cheeks are pink, and there's a goofy smile on her face.

"Sorry," he mumbles apologetically. "I shouldn't have done that. I got carried away."

She furrows her brow at his remorse-filled tone, pulls him down for another kiss. "Good."

He chuckles at the obvious contentment in her voice. "Was that your first orgasm?"

She gets even pinker, if possible, and bites her lip when she nods. "With someone else," she admits almost guiltily.

He smiles. "What were we arguing about again?"

She shakes her head, laughing. "No idea."

He moves to step away from her, but she drags him back by the waistband of his shorts, snaking her hand down to rub him shamelessly through the fabric.

He groans loudly, his hand reaching back out to the wall to steady himself.

"Rachel," he warns, but he is only met with a sly grin and an increase in pressure.

He has just given in to her ministrations when she releases her hold on him. She ensures that he's watching before she reaches under her dress to take off her wet panties. She hands them to him and almost skips towards his bedroom.

When he finally gets into the room, she's suddenly shy again; sitting on the side of the bed, legs crossed while she toys with the skirt of her dress.

He approaches her and tilts her chin up to him. She uncrosses her legs so he can stand between them.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

She nods, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt to encourage him to take it off. She reaches to unbutton his shorts, but he stops her, kissing her when she frowns up at him.

"Let me do this for you," he tells her reverently, as he skims his hands up the back of her bare calves and thighs. "Let me teach you."

The significance of his words aren't lost on her, and even if she hadn't been 100% ready before, the dedication in his voice would have won her over.

Still, she has never been one to give up complete control, even when she has no idea what she's doing.

"I don't want you to treat me like a virgin," she informs him, reaching again to unbutton his shorts, pulling them down before he can complain.

"But you are a virgin," he teases lightly, pulling her dress over her head to leave her naked.

To her credit, she doesn't withdraw from his appraising gaze, though she is sure that he can see the slight tremble that runs through her.

"I won't be in a few minutes," she states confidently, positive that there is no going back now.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Minutes?" he asks, a mocking undertone in his voice.

Now she actually blushes, worried that she has offended him.

He pulls her up by her fingertips, and links her hands behind his neck. "Definitely not minutes," he tells her, shaking his head humorously. "I've got big plans for us."

It feels strange to be completely naked and pressed against him so intimately; his boxer briefs the only thing separating them. She literally has to remind herself to breathe.

"Plans?"

"First up: naked making out," he informs her with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He leans down and kisses her as his right hand strokes her bare hip. "So much better than regular making out," he explains.

She moans her agreement as his hand reaches her breast and thumbs her nipple, and she begins her own exploration, grazing her fingertips over the muscles in his back, and playing with him through his boxers.

Her fingers are tangled in his hair and he's nuzzling her neck when it occurs to her that something is missing. "We should have music," she manages to breathe out.

He looks up at her face before glancing around the room, searching for a way to give her everything she wants.

His bedroom is his sanctuary away from his work, so most of his equipment isn't within reach, and neither of them wants to let go of the other right now.

"Sing to me," she half-asks, half-instructs, and he laughs, resting his head against hers while he thinks of a song.

She smiles when he starts humming _Wonderwall_, and it both relaxes her and turns her on when he drums the beat lightly with his fingertips up and down her naked back as he serenades her.

_Today is gonna be the day  
>That they're gonna throw it back to you<br>By now you should've somehow  
>Realised what you gotta do<br>__**I don't believe that anybody  
>Feels the way I do about you now<br>**__  
>Backbeat the word is on the street<br>That the fire in your heart is out  
>I'm sure you've heard it all before<br>But you never really had a doubt  
>I don't believe that anybody feels<br>The way I do about you now_

And all the roads we have to walk are winding  
>And all the lights that lead us there are blinding<br>There are many things that I would  
>Like to say to you<br>But I don't know how

Because maybe  
>You're gonna be the one that saves me?<br>And after all  
>You're my wonderwall<p>

She knows it's one of his favorite songs, but the way he's singing to her makes her feel like the lyrics have some personal significance for him and their relationship.

They sway on spot when he finishes, and she reaches up to press a solid kiss on his lips, which she hopes gets the message across: it's time.

"I'm ready," she tells him, in case he didn't t get it. She walks back towards the bed and sits in the middle of it, pulling her knees up to her chest.

He shucks off his boxers, gets a condom from the top drawer of his bureau, and comes to join her on the bed.

"Hold on to this," he tells her, pressing the packet into her hand with a kiss.

He's done so much to make her feel comfortable, but she feels the first sign of nerves shoot up her spine.

She thinks he notices. He strokes her cheek, looking intently at her. "Still sure?" he asks.

She nods, and shifts so that she's lying against the pillows while she attempts to tear open the foil package.

"Relax," he tells her, stopping her fiddling hands. "We're not there yet."

He's still sitting up and looking at her, and she feels a bit intimidated until he leans down to kiss her and run his hands over her body, and she forgets to feel anything other than the different points where his skin is making contact with hers.

Her eyes are closed while he draws shapes against the skin of her stomach. She's anticipating the moment his hand moves south, so she is taken completely by surprise when she feels him kiss her between her legs.

Sure she had dreamed about it, but she hadn't expected _that_ just yet. It was the one thing that she could never adequately imagine, having no ability to do it herself, as she's learned to do with her fingers.

It feels heavenly, and she senses him smile against her (how is that even possible?) when she starts voicing exactly how much she likes it.

Yet, despite everything going on down there, her favorite part, strangely, is the fact that he's still tracing patterns – hearts possibly – into her lower stomach. The hand teasing at her breast doesn't suck, either.

He moves his hand from her stomach after a while, and she whines – loudly – until she feels a finger pressing inside of her, and the sound turns into something else entirely.

His finger – now fingers – are bigger than hers by far, and he obviously – _obviously_ – knows what he's doing.

He lifts his head, which she wholeheartedly disagrees with, and she registers vaguely that he's speaking to her, but she's intent on getting his fingers to revisit a spot that for some reason feels like it will make everything all better.

"Rach, open your eyes," he instructs her, and she doesn't know how he can sound so calm when her pulse is pounding in her ears.

She opens her eyes, more to complain than to appease him, but instead of looking at his face, she's distracted by the fact that he has his right hand between her legs, and his left languidly stroking his hard shaft.

It doesn't take much more than that.

Things slow down after that, because once he's inside her, it's soft kisses and gentle caresses, his arms encircling her as they whisper to each other. As much fun as everything he did for her earlier was, there's something about them being able to reach pleasure together that thrills her; that the simple, instinctive act of her arching into him works so well for them both.

(Honestly, she doesn't know how to do much of anything else.)

She'll learn. She already knows he's an amazing teacher.

VII.

**S**he meets Kurt's family for brunch at their hotel the next morning, and she's positive that everyone will be able to tell what she was up to last night since she can't stop beaming.

They're still waiting to be seated when Kurt drags her into the women's room, ignoring the looks he gets from the attendant cleaning the sink.

"You're glowing," he states accusatorily, with a poorly hidden smirk on his face. "Blaine and I made a bet last night, and I need to know who won."

Her smile is huge as she nods. Words are escaping her right now.

They're both jumping up and down, arms linked, when Blaine walks into the room, looking considerably more self-conscious than Kurt did.

"You owe me twenty bucks," Kurt declares to Blaine. "I told you the jealousy would work to her advantage."

Blaine doesn't say anything, and both divas turn to look at him.

"What's wrong?" Rachel questions, frowning. "He was really sweet, and it was great."

Blaine sighs and he and Kurt exchange a look. Kurt shakes his head at his boyfriend. "Don't start," he warns Blaine.

Blaine seems to feel that whatever he has to say is too important to ignore.

"I'm worried about you, Rachel." Blaine says, sounding reluctant to kill her mood. "He's your teacher. You know there is no way this will end well, right?"

All three of them are quiet. Rachel twirls her hair around her finger before folding her arms.

"I love him," she tells them, any trace of doubt absent from her voice. She looks like she's about to say something else, but she seems more unsure of whatever was to come next.

She walks back out to the restaurant, her mood radically different from when she came in.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry for the delay in posting the chapter, guys, but thanks for sticking with this story! This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I was unhappy with the ending, so I ended it early. There will definitely be a chapter 4, which will undoubtedly be the last, and will have their reunion.**_

* * *

><p>I.<p>

She's got the strongest sex drive of any woman he's ever been with.

He shouldn't be surprised - it's not like Rachel isn't passionate about the majority of things in her life. Sometimes, though, he thinks back to the day he had first kissed her, the day she had confessed to him that she was a virgin, and he thanks his lucky stars that he had given in and made love to her when every - scratch that – _most _instincts in his body had been screaming at him to keep things as simple as possible between them.

It had been stupid, really. He had known from that very first kiss that he was in way too deep. Probably before then.

He knows that she recognized it too. In every previous relationship, he has always wondered if there was something more; some sort of cliché, 'is that all there is?' that was a constant nagging thought. He doesn't have that anymore. He's half jealous, half-thankful that Rachel always knew that this, _them_, was worth waiting for.

He had just wanted to stave off the inevitable hurt that will come from their forbidden relationship. He doesn't want to have to break her heart, and maybe his in the process.

That's the constant nagging thought now.

In the meantime, however, there are no more boundaries between them, no more pretense that this isn't the full, serious relationship that they both want.

He's discovered that he likes touching her too much. He loves that now he doesn't have to hold back when he wants to grope her or join her in the shower; that there really is no 'too high to be decent' spot on her thigh anymore.

It's all fair game.

She is, in every way, the complete opposite of the innocent, virginal lover. He can't help but tell her this when he's fingers-deep inside her and she's still in her work clothes (skirt, anyway), and she holds his hand steady until she can groan out that she has an excellent teacher who prizes hands-on experience.

Every time one of them brings up the context of their initial meeting, it's always a little bit kinky. She's learning fast just how to stroke his ego to earn her more orgasms. Not that he minds.

He doesn't remember ever being this infatuated with anyone. One night, he asks her what she fantasizes about (he really wants to make all her dreams come true), and she's quiet, pretending to drift off to sleep. He thinks he may have pushed her too far, too fast, but when she gets home from work the next day, she has a single-spaced, double-sided list printed on the Broadway Cares letterhead, arranged in order of "necessity."

There are like a million different reasons (56 to be exact) why that list is the hottest thing ever, and ends up laminated next to their, well, his, bed.

Neither of them has said the L-word yet – it's the last barrier they have yet to break – but he figures she has to know that he does. Actions speak louder than words, and he's known for a long time that she's in love with him.

II.

The first time he says he loves her out loud, he doesn't actually say it to _her._

It's after nine, and, thanks to number 18, a repeat, they only just made the cutoff for when the Thai restaurant down the street stops delivering.

He's grabbing a bottle of white wine from the fridge when he realizes that the deliveryman Rachel is supposedly talking to has an all too feminine and disturbingly familiar voice.

Shit.

He can tell that Rachel, ever polite, is awkwardly contemplating inviting Carmen in from the way she's trying to pull his shirt even lower over her knees, so he walks over to the door to make sure that doesn't happen.

"Carmen, you can't just waltz in here whenever you feel like it." He braces his arm against the already three quarters of the way open door, and fills the gap with his body.

He senses rather than sees Rachel step meekly behind him and out of sight.

His ex-girlfriend grips the duffel bag she's holding extra hard before she addresses him, anger competing with humorless disbelief. "You fucking liar. Not screwing your students, right? I knew there was something about her."

With her accent, her cursing always sounds off, as if she's trying too hard.

He doesn't immediately answer, which he knows will only infuriate her further. Instead, he takes a couple of seconds to scrutinize her. Her hair is shorter than when he last saw her, and she's wearing a low-cut red top that plays up what he always thought were her best assets.

Obviously, she had plans for tonight.

Just then, the Thai deliveryman shows up and he, too, is distracted by Carmen's chest as he accepts the cash Jesse gives him.

Jesse sighs before addressing his ex-girlfriend. "You don't have the right to just show up here anymore. There's a coffee shop on the corner that's open until ten. I'll meet you down there in a few minutes."

It's a dismissal, and she looks like she wants to make a scene, but shoots him a reproachful glance before cursing at him in Spanish and heading for the elevators. This time, her cursing sounds more genuine.

He shuts the door and turns around only to be met with the sight of Rachel, fully dressed in the maxi dress she had been wearing earlier, holding a bag and carrying her sandals in her hand as she exits the bedroom.

"I called a cab," she begins to explain hurriedly, "I think it's best if I go home."

"Rachel," he attempts to pacify, "Please don't go. I'm just going to go see what she wants, and then I'll be right back."

He puts the paper bag with the food on the coffee table; the top still stapled shut. "Stay. Eat something. I'll be right back. I'm really sorry about all of this."

She shakes her head, and looks down at her bare feet. "I don't know," she says softly.

He takes advantage of her hesitation, taking the bag and her sandals from her hands, and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. "I want you here. Please don't go."

He leaves, and she sits on the couch second-guessing her choice to stay for a few minutes before she starts crying, her mind running wild with the possible ramifications of Carmen making her and Jesse's relationship public.

The thought that depresses her most is that he is the one that will likely bear the majority of the consequences. She knows that he has been dealing with the weight of their relationship all summer, but this is the first time that she has really confronted it herself.

She can't bear the thought of causing him that much pain and ridicule; it's too overwhelming.

Before she consciously processes what she's about to do, she's calling her dads at home. She has purposefully kept her relationship from them all summer, knowing they wouldn't be thrilled that she was dating someone more than ten years older, especially if that someone was her former teacher.

Still, she _needs _them right now. It's as simple as that.

She tells them everything – who Jesse is, losing her virginity to him, the fact that she is head over heels in love with him, and the fact that he happens to currently be downstairs with his ex-girlfriend and colleague, who would likely expose them in retaliation.

"Dad, daddy what am I supposed to do?"

She is amazed that even after hitting them with all of that, they can still be objective. She was right about them not being thrilled, but they encourage her to talk to Jesse. They can tell she trusts him (goodbye, virginity), and they agree that he has the most at stake when ("not if," they remind her) their relationship is revealed.

Even though nothing is solved, she feels so much better after she talks to them; like a weight she didn't know she was carrying has been lifted. Leroy is reminding her of the meaning of 'unconditional love,' and that she can tell them anything, when Jesse walks back into the apartment.

"He's back," she informs her dads. "I'm going to go."

She tells them she loves them before hanging up, wiping at her eyes as she faces Jesse, though she makes no effort to move towards him from her position by the window.

"Should I try to make a run for it before they get here?" he says as he turns to close the door; his attempt at a joking tone falling far short of the mark.

"No need," she answers softly, willing to play his game of avoidance a small while longer, "They trust me. And…"

She's about to tell him that her dads have decided to visit her, and they want to meet him when they come, you know, now that they know about every intimate detail of their relationship, but she realizes she has no idea how _his_ conversation just went.

That conversation could very well have a tremendous impact on just what happens when her dads come to visit.

"I needed to tell them," she admits to him. "I used to tell them everything."

He nods. Then there's a pause, and, frustratingly, he's not being forthcoming with what happened with Carmen.

She sits down in the window seat, crossing her legs underneath her. "I waited for you. Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"

He tilts his head to the left and walks towards her before answering her. "She wants to get back together and get married," he responds, not mincing words. "It's the one-year anniversary of her dad's death, and I think it's finally hitting her that she's almost thirty. In her culture, most women her age are already wives and mothers. Everyone always thought we would get married. She thinks we could be happy again."

He laughs glumly. "She's says she's willing to overlook my … indiscretions, and she will move here."

Rachel nods, not trusting her words, and unfolds her legs to rest her feet on the floor. This is exactly what she had been dreading.

He and Carmen make so much more sense together.

"The whole time she was talking, all I could think was how I didn't feel anything she was feeling. I don't want any of that."

He pauses meaningfully and she can feel his gaze on her. "Funny how that happens."

He sits down next to her in the window seat, grabs her hands and tugs her a little so that she is facing him as they both sit. "I love you, Rachel, and I'm sorry I told her that before I told you."

At first, she turns away from him so that she can hide the smile on her face and the tears in her eyes, but he's not having any of it and tilts her chin back towards him.

"I love you," he repeats, this time looking directly into her eyes.

She surprises him when her response is laughter. "I'm sort of glad you told her first," she says, "And it's okay. I told Kurt, Blaine _and _my dads before I told you."

"Told me what?"

She rolls her eyes at his grinning face. "I love you too, idiot."

"Ouch," he mutters, holding his hand to his chest in a mock wounded gesture. "That's my long-awaited declaration of love?"

She smiles indulgently and brushes at his curls, but she has other things on her mind. "But isn't she going to tell everyone? Your friends, the other grad students, your boss?"

"Yes," he answers simply, sighing. "But that's out of my hands. I'll deal with whatever comes."

"I don't want you to lose your job because of me."

"Hmm," he ponders, "It's a risk I was always willing to take." She frowns disapprovingly and he sighs. "I made my decision the day I invited you into my office, knowing what I wanted to do. The results have been more worth it than I could have ever dreamed."

"But, Jesse…"

He stops her, because he's been worrying about this enough for them both for the last two months, and it's almost funny that she's just now catching on to what could happen.

"Not tonight," he tells her, drawing her legs across his lap and she relaxes back against the wall that frames the windowseat. "Tonight, we're two people in love, and I think that calls for a celebration."

Slowly, he slides her long dress up her legs until the fabric is bunched around her waist.

"Jesse," she hisses, stopping his hands from taking her dress even further, "We're in front of the window!"

Actually, there is a sheer curtain covering the bay window, so people can't really see them, probably just their outlines, but still.

He raises an eyebrow at her, and she can tell, without him saying anything, that he is making fun of her. He's entitled to it: a fair share of the items on her list involves some form of exhibitionism.

His hands leave her legs to meet where hers are clutching at her dress and he squeezes gently. "Trust me," he requests.

The way he is looking at her makes it clear that he's asking for more than just permission to take her dress off.

She sits up as best as she can with her legs across his lap and lets her hands fall from her dress.

"I do," she promises, and she wants to make this as serious, as important as she can. Tonight feels like a defining moment in their relationship. "I do trust you. And I love you, so much."

She spares the window a second glance before wiggling out of her dress, dropping it to the floor with a finality that's not lost on him.

"Continue," she commands with a smile.

He presses her back against the side of the seat and directs her leg to hook around his back so that she is spread wide open for him across his lap.

He knows just how to work her up, and he takes his time, slow gentle touches that take her from wanting to desperate more quickly than she would care to admit.

Before Jesse, she used to think that men would prefer _getting_ attention rather than giving it. In preparation, she had spent a lot of time reading all the girly magazines for tips on how to please her man, for when she actually had a man she wanted to please. As with everything else in life, she had been determined to be the best. Nowhere, ever, had Cosmo mentioned that the biggest turn on for her man would be getting her off, in as many ways and variations as he could.

Not that she hadn't taken some of Cosmo's tips to heart, or finally discovered the utility of her lack of a gag reflex. (She knew there had to be an upside to that more likely to be poisoned thing.)

She recovers quickly from her first orgasm, and, in one fluid motion, grabs one of the cushions off the seat and sinks to her knees in front of him.

He always loves this angle: when she's kneeling before him and he can direct the amount of pressure and the pace. It's one of the few times that she can clearly picture him as the young, pompous star he was apparently infamous for being when he used to be on Broadway.

He drags her to her feet right before he comes, and he's so close that he's not speaking, just looking at her with this reverent expression in his eyes.

She slides her panties down her legs before she straddles him on the windowseat, and he groans when she uses her hand to guide him inside of her.

He's much closer than she is, and he lets her take control, which she absolutely loves, and he knows she loves. She can feel him smirking against her when he presses kisses all over her upper body as she rides him. When he does come, his fingers are already furiously working against her, anxious to take her with him.

She can be quite loud when she's ready, but this time it's her vision rather than her voice that reacts to the pleasure coursing through her. She doesn't know if it's the window, which her hands are now pressed up against for support, or the fact that he just told her that he loves her, but her world goes completely white when she comes, and she can't stop kissing him.

"I love you too," he echoes softly, rubbing her still bra-clad back as she comes down, and she doesn't know if that's what she's been unconsciously repeating to him, or if he's just responding from earlier; doesn't matter as long as he keeps saying it.

It feels like a beginning and the beginning of the end all at the same time.

III.

Spurred on by the realization that Carmen will likely expose them, their escapade in front of the window serves as a metaphor for how much more open they're being about their relationship.

Neither of them acknowledge it, but little by little they start going out publicly – reading the paper together at the coffeeshop on the corner on a Sunday morning, heading out for dessert randomly at the chocolate shop around the corner, shopping for fruit at the farmer's market eight blocks away. One day he meets her in the city, takes her to dinner, and they dance together on the sidewalk as a homeless sax player plays a cheesy Lionel Richie song. Anyone can see them together, and she keeps expecting a confrontation, but it never comes.

Her dads visit at the end of July, and all four of them go to Sunday brunch and then a matinee. She can tell that despite themselves, Jesse has impressed both her parents. He's smart, well-travelled, and as knowledgeable about world events as he is about theater. That doesn't mean that they spare him, though, and Leroy, especially, gives him the third degree on his parents, past relationships, jobs, and student loans.

Even these answers are fine, if not impressive. (For the record, his parents are wealthy but distant; Carmen was his first really serious relationship; with his contacts, academic and publication record, he can have his pick of jobs at any east coast university; and thanks to the wealthy parents, student loans were thankfully never much of a problem.)

Then, Leroy asks the money question, and, really, there is no right answer to that question.

"What will happen when your relationship with Rachel goes public?"

But, as she's come to expect from Jesse, his answer also displays his level-headedness, confidence, and his dedication to her.

"I'll tell the truth of course: 'yes, we're together,' but make it clear that nothing happened until after she was no longer my student. She's over eighteen, and although it's frowned upon, as long as she isn't my student, it's not a violation of university policy. I expect that the heads of my department won't be too pleased, people will talk, and my contract may not be renewed after next year, but I'll just change programs. I'm dating Rachel, its not as if I'm going to be preying on every freshman girl out there. People should understand that."

He sounds less convinced about this last part, because that's the part he's trying to romanticize to get her dads on his side. She's aware, because they've talked about it, that he's worried that people will see him as some sort of predator on young, impressionable girls. Not exactly the person you want teaching music to freshmen.

She gives his thigh a reassuring squeeze under the table, and Hiram, seemingly having decided that Jesse is worthy of the benefit of the doubt, says, "Your heart is in the right place." Rachel knows that the unspoken words are "But your head isn't," and it puts a damper on her already fragile spirit. No one thinks that they have any sort of future. She herself isn't sure, if she's being completely honest with herself.

Because, with all of her previous boyfriends, she had always had the 'five year vision.' Puck was over before she could even contemplate it, Finn's future was always in Ohio when hers wasn't, and she could never have hurt Tina in the way that was necessary to seriously contemplate a future with Mike, so that was a non-starter.

With Jesse, it's not that she can't see a future with him, it's that she can see multiple futures. She can see the extension of this summer – coming home to him everyday and waking up next to him in the morning – just as easily as she can see him deciding that she and the age difference aren't worth the stress, and breaking up with her because of it. She doesn't doubt for a minute that he loves her, but in all her wishing and wanting for 'the one' to come and sweep her off her feet, she had never before had to ask herself whether love was enough.

It's a constant question for her now, entering her mind at odd moments: when she's watching him sleep, when they're brushing their teeth together in the mornings, or when he's grumbling that she can never ever be ready on time, though he's never displeased with the results of her titivating.

Is their love enough?

Her dads are staying in a downtown hotel suite with a pull-out bed in the living room, and she spends the night with them. They've hardly made it through the door of the suite when she pounces: "So? What do you think?"

Hiram glances wearily at Leroy who shakes his head and busies himself with getting their suitcase unto the luggage rack.

Hiram has always been more considerate of her feelings than Leroy has, which probably stems from the fact that he has read way too many child psychology studies in his line of work as a pediatrician.

"He seems like a great guy, Rachel, and if things were different I think your dad and I wouldn't hesitate to be supportive, but…"

She doesn't expect it, doesn't feel it coming, but she starts to cry; big, fat tears that slide quietly down her cheeks. She had hoped beyond hope that they would miraculously love Jesse and be willing to endorse their relationship. She has never felt sure of her decisions when her dads disapprove of them; she respects them too much to not take their opinions into consideration.

"We think you're setting yourself up to get hurt, honey," Leroy says helplessly from across the room. "I'm sorry, but that's the truth."

She doesn't see Jesse after that until she gets home from work on Monday night, and the first thing he does is ask what her dads said about him.

"They thought you were great," she says, reaching over to snag a piece of lettuce from the bowl of salad he's making.

Her mouth full, she smiles at him, and she knows he knows there is more, a whole other part to the story that she isn't telling him. He indulges her, plays along with her charade, but they both know they're not fooling the other; they're not fooling themselves, either.

IV.

It's early August, two weeks before classes start, and the weekend of his birthday when Carmen's impact becomes obvious. His friends are hosting a small get together in honor of his birthday at the same tapas restaurant in town, and it will be the first time Rachel will be meeting most of them even though she and Jesse have been dating for over two months.

He tells her repeatedly that she doesn't have to come, that they can have their own celebration later, but he quits after she threatens him with a hot curling iron and tells him with finality that she's going.

His hand is at her back as they walk into the restaurant, and most of his group is already gathered at one of the more intimate sections at the back of the restaurant.

Aside from the library, which is not really conducive to conversation, he hasn't seen many of his friends since the school year ended in May. They make jokes about him having disappeared off the face of the planet, before, inevitably, turning their attention towards her.

"Rachel, I presume?" Enzo, one of the guys from Jesse's band, asks, standing and kissing her on both cheeks. "We've heard so much about you."

"Not from Jesse," someone still seated snickers.

Enzo shoots a look at the table before addressing Jesse. "Jesse, she's beautiful. Shame on you for keeping her hidden for so long."

Rachel blushes at the praise, and feels herself relax a little bit. "It's great to finally meet all of you," she tells the group.

But, the rest of the group doesn't seem quite as inviting as Enzo, who is all the way at the end of the table, and it feels like they are purposefully leaving her out of their conversations. Only Jesse is really talking directly to her, and the others often try to draw him into their conversations with pointed questions about developments in their respective fields. By the time the waiter comes to take their drink orders, she and Jesse are speaking quietly to themselves, though at some points he tunes into their neighbors' discussions.

Brandon orders pitchers of sangria for the table and the waiter asks to see all of their IDs to verify that everyone is old enough to drink.

"I'm not drinking," Rachel attempts to explain quietly, but the waiter, obviously having enough experience with college students in this town, refuses to bring pitchers to the table if everyone is not legal.

"I promise you she won't be drinking," Jesse assures the waiter, when someone else chimes in.

"You should listen to him, Sir," one of the other guys jokes, "He's her babysitter for the night. Just don't tell anyone –he'll be fired for his, um, _perversion_."

The waiter looks uncomfortable as the table erupts into laughter, and Rachel feels like she's about to cry.

"Come on Jesse," another of his friends adds. "Send the little lady home so we can have some big kid fun. She'll still be there for you to fuck her later."

"Never mind," Jesse tells the waiter, grabbing Rachel's purse off the back of her chair, "We're leaving."

"It's your fucking birthday, dude," a woman with long, straight blonde hair asks, "Are you seriously going home right now?"

Jesse glares at her as he hands Rachel, who is now standing, her purse, but the woman is not deterred. "Save yourself the embarrassment, honey," she tells Rachel condescendingly, "You may think he cares about you, but he's still in love with my best friend."

V.

"I don't understand why they're your friends," Rachel says, as he's driving them back to his place and she is taking her hair out of the updo she had spent twenty minutes on. "They were really rude."

There's silence for a minute before Jesse speaks, more crossly than she expected. "I told you you didn't have to come."

To say that's not the answer that she wanted or expected is an understatement, and she's stunned. He parks the car in front of his building and, thankfully, some of his anger has seemingly dissipated.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that," he tells her, running a hand through his hair. "Don't let them get to you. They're a bunch of assholes who think they've made it somewhere. They haven't."

She mulls this over while they're walking up the stairs and into his apartment, but she can't ignore this for long. "So, what? You're just never going to hang out with your friends? They won't ever accept us?"

He pauses as he scrolls through the tv listings, seemingly decides against a verbal response and shrugs his shoulders.

She had been bullied her entire high school career, and the only thing that made it better was the fact that she always had amazing people in her corner: her dads, obviously, and, later, Kurt and Blaine. She would have thought she could add Jesse to that list.

She knows how to deal with these things, and ignoring them is definitely not the solution.

"Jesse!" she yells in an irritated tone. "What? Don't you care? Your so-called friends just made a laughing-stock out of both of us… on your birthday!"

"Rach," he starts, his tone mirroring hers, and she can tell that whatever he's about to say next will piss her off beyond belief. "What were you expecting? That they would just accept us with open arms? What do you think Sarah will say, or your other friends? The people in your dorm?"

"I can't accept that it will always be like this." She's still yelling at him, even though she's not entirely sure that he's the one she's angry at.

He sighs, turns off the television and turns to face her fully. "Well, I don't know what you want me to say."

She doesn't know what she wants him to say, either. She storms into his bedroom and locks the door, feeling even worse when it's obvious he hasn't come after her, and that he's turned the television back on.

She's in his bedroom for about an hour before she walks to the door, flips the lock, and gets back on the bed.

Ten minutes later, he's opening the door without knocking and lying down next to her.

"It's your birthday," she says apologetically, brushing tears out of her eyes. "I don't want you to remember it like this."

She reaches over to kiss him on the lips.

"We knew this was coming," he states softly. "Tonight will be what our lives will be like if we continue to do this. It could be twenty years from now, all people will remember is that I was your teacher and you were my student."

It seems ridiculous that some stupid comments from his friends are prompting this, but it's as if they can't ignore it anymore.

"I won't do that to you," he continues. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I can't stand to see people treat you like you're some sort of whore."

"I won't do it to you, either," she whispers. "I won't tear your life apart like that."

She gets off the bed and goes to the kitchen, bringing a small cake with lit candles back into the bedroom a couple of minutes later.

"Make a wish," she instructs him with a small smile, and she realizes that they have become too good at pretending that everything is okay.

He blows out the candles, and, of course, she asks him what he wishes for.

"I wished for you," he tells her honestly, brushing her hair out of her face.

Tomorrow, she's leaving to go home for ten days before school starts. Tonight was always supposed to be special: his birthday, the night before their separation, and the last hurrah of the summer before life returned to normal. She ordered the lingerie weeks ago.

"We still have tonight," she tells him, and he shakes his head because he doesn't want to take advantage of her, not if this is the end.

"I don't regret it," she promises him. "I'll never regret any of it."

The next morning is probably the most awkward one of her life. They both know it's the end as he drives her to the airport, but the only indication of it is him kissing her extra hard when they get there and the whispered 'I love yous' that seem especially meaningful.

Surprisingly, the tears don't start until she lands in Lima and, instead of her parents, Kurt meets her at the gate.

Jesse called him. He knew she would need the support.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I haven't been watching Glee, but I would love to hear your perspectives on this season, especially regarding St. Ber<strong>**ry**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_This was supposed to be the last section of Chapter 3, so it's much shorter than normal. Hopefully, it is still a satisfying conclusion to this story. _**

I.

**A**fter the breakup, he looks for her everywhere – the quads, in campus buildings, the lines for the TKTS booth, and every freaking news report that even so much as mentions Ohio.

He moves on, obviously, and convinces himself that it was all for the best, but he never does get over her.

That first year, he spends hours on December 17th agonizing over whether to hit send on the text message he couldn't stop himself from writing.

_Happy Birthday. I love you. _

It had taken him two hours to decide to exclude the word 'still' - i.e. that he _still _loves her.

Because he does – still, that is. But he decided it sounded pathetic and desperate.

(As if the text message wasn't enough.)

Right as the clock turns midnight, he pushes send because the pressure of not sending it exactly at midnight is greater than the pressure of deciding whether to send it all.

Rachel deserves perfection or epic romance; something along those lines.

He waits more hours for a response, but it doesn't come until early August of the next year, right at midnight.

_Happy Birthday. I love you_.

His birthday is also the date of their breakup, and he's impressed that she managed to avoid any mention of it, mostly because it's been on his mind all day.

They exchange text messages every year on their birthdays, always exactly at midnight. It's the one thing that remains constant regardless of where he is or who he has in his bed.

He feels less guilty about that when he rationalizes that she's the only one in his heart.

He often wonders who she is with and where she is when she sends or receives his messages, but the fact that her text shows up like clockwork on his birthday comforts him in some weird way, and all the other negative thoughts pale in comparison.

He is her top priority at that particular moment, on that particular day. That has to count for something. Right?

All this has to be leading somewhere: perfection, epic romance, or something along those lines.

II.

**H**e would never have guessed that the next time he sees her she will be on some other guy's arm, in London, more than six years after he dropped her at the airport and watched her walk out of his life.

It's a Thanksgiving potluck at a British pub, put on by a group of homesick Americans who have in turn invited every Yankee presently in the United Kingdom.

He's never been crazy about Thanksgiving, but one of his friends from college who lives in London with her husband wants to set him up with an American friend that just moved there. He agrees because, apparently, the friend is hot, and, according to his friend's husband, easy.

The hot, easy woman never shows, and he's finishing his beer and contemplating the movie menu back at his hotel when he sees Rachel for the first time in six years.

She's being introduced around by whoever her date is, but she seems distracted and her eyes are scanning the rest of the crowd.

Her hair is now around her shoulders, about six inches shorter than when he last saw her, and he wonders how different he looks to her. He's graying around his temples now, but none of the women he has been with have seemed to mind.

Still, she's 25 and she's never looked better. He just turned 36 and is bordering on middle-aged.

God help him – that seems like a lot less of an age difference than 18 and 29 did.

He shouldn't be thinking like this. She's obviously with someone else and she seems … distracted.

When she does notice him, her reaction is instantaneous: her eyes widen in shock, she fusses with her hair and bites her lip.

It's such a cute reaction, and so _her_, that he can't help but smile.

Her date recaptures her attention by introducing her to a woman, Millie, whom Jesse met briefly earlier when he handed over the loaves of bread he had brought for the potluck.

Jesse drains his beer and moves closer to the trio. Rachel is watching him out of the corner of her eye, though, like any good actress, her focus is trained on her audience.

His friend from earlier does what he was hoping, interrupting her conversation with Rachel and her date in order to introduce everyone.

"Harry, Rachel, this is Jesse St. James, he's a playwright from New York who is pitching his new masterpiece to producers on the West End for next season. Jesse, I'd like to introduce you to Harry, who obviously needs no introduction, and Rachel Berry from Ohio. She's auditioning for Harry's new musical."

He tips his chin to Harry, for whom he definitely needs an introduction, and shakes Rachel's hand, touching her for the first time in years. "Pleasure."

Harry starts to talk, he seems like the type to fill silences, but Jesse interrupts him.

Addressing Millie, Jesse apologizes for the fact that he has to leave early, making up a story about meeting friends for another dinner.

"I just have to use the restroom," he informs them, "Then I'll be out of your hair."

He counts to fifty outside the restroom door in a back hallway until he sees Rachel speed walking towards where he stands, still in her coat and gloves.

He kisses her without any sort of preamble, and he relaxes when she winds her arms around his neck and kisses him back with the same fervor.

They break apart, and she laughs softly against his chest.

"Your place or mine?" he asks, kissing along her hairline.

"Yours," she says, "I'm staying with a friend, and I don't think she will appreciate me bringing someone back to her apartment."

At that moment, one of the waiters comes in, carrying what appears to be a heavy box, leaving the door to the back alley wide open.

Rachel tilts her head towards the direction of the open door and the alley, tugs her coat closer around her. "Let's go."

He resists her effort to pull him outside, needing to clarify something. "What about your date?"

"He's a prick and _not _my date. I've already got a job lined up at the Loeb in Cambridge in a couple of weeks. He promised to introduce me to some people here tonight, but I think he had higher hopes for what would happen afterward."

She pulls at his arm impatiently. "Let's go."

III.

"**S**o after all that, you made your way back to theater," she says the following morning, after they've gotten the awkward _what_ and _who_ of the last six years out of the way. She's sitting up naked in bed next to him after ordering room service. "I knew you would. What's your play about?"

"It's about falling in love when you least expect it," he tells her, and she smiles knowingly in response. "It's playing Off-Broadway in January, and people are interested in bringing it here. Things have been really busy recently, but I'm heading back to Manhattan next week to find an apartment and settle down there to see the play through."

"I'm here because one of my friends from college made me godmother to her baby," she tells him with a smile. "In January, I'm doing a revival of Gypsy in Cambridge, Mass. that they expect to move to Broadway in a few months. I think it may be my big break."

"I remember just how captivating your rendition of_ Let Me Entertain You_ is," he says seriously, "It's about time people realize how amazing you are Rachel."

She grins and leans down to kiss him. "I agree. Want to hear something crazy?"

"Crazier than you waking up next to me again this morning? I'm pretty sure yesterday you were a memory."

"Different kind of crazy," she specifies, curling back into his side. "My dads bought me an apartment on the Upper West side my senior year, and I need to find a subletter for when I'm in Cambridge."

"The problem is…" she continues intriguingly, trailing her fingers across his chest, "I don't want to give up my apartment. I'm still going to want to come home sometimes, sleep in my bed, walk around in my underwear…"

He stops her roving hand, tries to look into her eyes. "Are you asking me to move into your apartment?"

She sits and tucks her hair behind her ears. "Actually, I'm asking you to move in _with me_. I'll be home about half the week… and do you not want to?"

He takes a deep breath before looking at her. In response, she chews on her lip.

"Your dads will be thrilled," he says sarcastically, but it's still not the answer she wants.

"You're not answering my question."

He leans on his elbow so that he can face her. "It's not the right question."

She scrunches her face in confusion. "I thought… is it too soon?"

He chuckles at the look on her face. "I'm 36 years old, Rach. We've lost enough time. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I need to know if that's what you want too."

Her smile is dazzling. "Yes," she answers breathlessly. "A million times yes. But let me do the show and make it on Broadway before we get married. You've already got your Tony!"

He kisses her on the lips and goes to answer the door for room service, telling the waiter to come back with a bottle of champagne so that they can celebrate.

"I can think of other things we can do to celebrate," Rachel mentions coyly as he deposits the trays on the bed. "Did I ever mention you were the best teacher I ever had?"

He laughs smugly. "I'm pretty sure you said something similar last night, but you may have left out the word 'teacher.'"

"So conceited," she jokes. "Plus, it was more than obvious that you missed me."

"Touché. You're supposed to stop looking after you find what it is you want," he tells her seriously, "Not go without it for years."

"If you love something let it go; if it comes back it's yours; that's how you know," she says cryptically. He smiles at the simple sentiment, and she laughs when she sees him struggling with the reference.

"Ms. Christina Aguilera," she informs him. "Such wise words from the, what did you call it at the time? 'Pedestrian world of bubblegum pop.'"

He rolls his eyes at her as he goes to retrieve the bottle of champagne from the waiter at the door, which starts her giggles anew. "Maybe there are some things that I can teach you after all," she teases him.

He pours them glasses of champagne, but instead of handing one to her, he places both the glasses and the bottle on the nightstand.

"Did you ever realize just how much _you _taught _me_ back then?" he asks quietly, poignantly, looking directly into her eyes.

She smiles knowingly, but shakes her head.

"Show me."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I loved writing this story, and I'm glad that many of you enjoyed it as well. Now back to Charades!<strong>_


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